We spent Friday morning at the Children's Museum followed by a pizza lunch with dad...doesn't get much better than that!!Thursday, October 25, 2007
Children's Museum
We spent Friday morning at the Children's Museum followed by a pizza lunch with dad...doesn't get much better than that!!
Happy Jack's Pumpkin Patch
Morgan was out of school Friday for Fall Break--whatever that is. I don't really understand why they need a break when they just started school less than 2 months ago. I think that means I'm getting old!! We didn't have a Fall Break--and we liked it!Anyhow, we used the extra time at home to do a few things around town that we haven't had a chance to do yet. Thursday we stopped by Happy Jack's Pumpkin Patch--thank goodness, because we drive by it on the way to school, and Morgan always asks when we get to go. The kids each picked out a pumpkin to put on the front porch, and then we got to check out the rabbits and head on over to the hayride. The best part of the whole deal was that it had just showered and scared most of the crowds away, so we pretty much had the place to ourselves!
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
This Ain't My First Rodeo
Oh, but it is!! We took the kids to the rodeo last weekend up in Moncks Corner. They had a great time at the pre-show festivities: jump castles, pony rides, and their first taste of cotton candy. Unfortunately, the rodeo didn't start until 8, and Charley only lasted until 8:30, so they didn't see too much of the rodeo itself; but the little that they did see was a big hit!!
Still Catching up--Pictures from Alice's B-day
Keith brought home my favorite kind of cake for my birthday--chocolate with chocolate icing!! I told him not to bother with a gift since I went shopping with the girls two weekends later while he watched the kids. Woo hoo!!I'm not sure why the kids look so funny in this picture. I think it's the "Dad, hurry up and take the picture so we can get some of this sugar in our system QUICK!!".
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Happy Birthday, Dad!
Here's a little something that was e-mailed to me shortly after my dad passed away that I thought would be great to share on his birthday. I add this to the blog as my daughter watches "Pocahontas" for the 3rd time in the past two days; while all the other girls her age are glued to "Cinderella" and "Snow White"! And this is how I know in my heart of hearts, that his spirit truly lives on.
Years ago, on one of the many opening mornings of hunting season that your Dad and I shared, he revealed something to me that I've never forgotten.
I had dropped him off before dawn so that he could wander back into a particular hammock. He had chosen the spot for his morning hunt on opening day. A mist shrouded, grove of stately live oaks draped with spanish moss on long drooping branches. A beautiful place, where the air was heavy and moist and still. Where the only sound was that of the owl, the whip-poor-will and the drip, drip, drip of heavy dew falling from the trees to the forest floor.
It was a wonderous place, a place that any outdoorsman would love. But a place where, for one reason or another, we seldom saw deer. For that reason, I was puzzled by the his choice. After all, opening morning was the best chance you would have all year to take a buck. Why would he pick a spot where his chances were so poor? And so when I picked him up later in our old jeep, I asked him why he had chosen his spot.
Your dad explained that he chose it because there was a tree in that hammock that he liked. A perfect tree, he said, to sit under and wait for dawn. And, as dawn broke, a perfect tree to lean back against while he began the season by reading aloud his prayer. Until then I wasn't aware of this ritual. I asked him about the prayer. He told me that it wasn't really a prayer to most, it was a letter written by an Indian chief to the President of the United States. But to your Dad the words were significant and embodied much of what he believed. So, he used it as his own special kind of prayer.
As you read this please understand that your father very much enjoyed studying the ancients. He was also captivated by the spirituality of those people we might refer to as primitive. He strongly believed that in many ways they were far more spiritually connected than modern man. I do believe that he felt a connection to them.
Keep in mind also that while this "letter/prayer" holds the sense of loss of a people on the fringe, I think it held special meaning for your father for that reason. I think he sometimes felt a kinship and a similar remorse at seeing a world going in a direction he could not favor.
CHIEF SEATTLE’S LETTER
The president in Washington sends word that he wishes to buy our land. But how can you buy or sell the sky? The land? The ideas is strange to us. If we do not own the freshness of the air and the sparkle of the water, how can you buy them?
Every part of the earth is sacred to my people. Every shining pine needle, every sandy shore, every mist in the dark woods, every meadow, every humming insect. All are holy in the memory and experience of my people.
We know the sap which courses through the trees as we know the blood that courses through our veins. We are part of the earth and it is part of us. The perfumed flowers are our sisters. The bear, the deer the great eagle, these are our brothers. The rocky crests, the dew in the meadow, the body heat of the pony, and man all belong to the same family.
The shining water that moves in the streams and rivers is not just water, but the blood of our ancestors. If we sell you our land, you must remember that it is sacred. Each glossy reflection in the clear waters of the lakes tells of events and memories in the life of my people. The water’s murmur is the voice of my father’s father.
The rivers are our brothers. They quench our thirst. They carry our canoes and feed our children. So you must give the rivers the kindness that you would give any brother.
If we sell our land, remember that the air is precious to us, that the air shares its spirit with all the life that it supports. The wind that gave our grandfather his first breath also received his last sigh. The wind also gives our children the spirit of life. So if we sell our land, you must keep it apart and sacred, as a place where man can go to taste the wind that is sweetened by the meadow flowers.
Will you teach your children what we have taught our children? That the earth is our mother? What befalls the earth befalls all the sons of the earth.
This we know: the earth does not belong to man, man belongs to the earth. All things are connected like the blood that unites us all. Man did not weave the web of life, he is merely a strand in it. Whatever he does to the web, he does to himself.
One thing we know: our God is your God. The earth is precious to him and to harm the earth is to heap contempt on its creator.
Your destiny is a mystery to us. What will happen when the buffalo are all slaughtered? The wild horses tamed? What will happen when the secret corners of the forest are heavy with the scent of many men and the view of the ripe hills is blotted with talking wires? Where will the thicket be? Gone! Where will the eagle be? Gone! And what is to say goodbye to the swift pony and then hunt? The end of living and the beginning of survival.
When the last red man has vanished with this wilderness, and his memory is only the shadow of a cloud moving across the prairie, will these shores and forests still be here? Will there be any of the spirit of my people left?
We love this earth as a newborn loves its mother’s heartbeat. So, if we sell you our land, love it as we loved it. Care for it, as we have cared for it. Hold in your mind the memory of the land as it is when you receive it. Preserve the land for all children, and love it, as God loves us.
As we are part of the land, you too are part of the land. This earth is precious to us. It is also precious to you.
One thing we know-there is only one God. No man, be he Red or White man, can be apart. We ARE all brothers after all.
Years ago, on one of the many opening mornings of hunting season that your Dad and I shared, he revealed something to me that I've never forgotten.
I had dropped him off before dawn so that he could wander back into a particular hammock. He had chosen the spot for his morning hunt on opening day. A mist shrouded, grove of stately live oaks draped with spanish moss on long drooping branches. A beautiful place, where the air was heavy and moist and still. Where the only sound was that of the owl, the whip-poor-will and the drip, drip, drip of heavy dew falling from the trees to the forest floor.
It was a wonderous place, a place that any outdoorsman would love. But a place where, for one reason or another, we seldom saw deer. For that reason, I was puzzled by the his choice. After all, opening morning was the best chance you would have all year to take a buck. Why would he pick a spot where his chances were so poor? And so when I picked him up later in our old jeep, I asked him why he had chosen his spot.
Your dad explained that he chose it because there was a tree in that hammock that he liked. A perfect tree, he said, to sit under and wait for dawn. And, as dawn broke, a perfect tree to lean back against while he began the season by reading aloud his prayer. Until then I wasn't aware of this ritual. I asked him about the prayer. He told me that it wasn't really a prayer to most, it was a letter written by an Indian chief to the President of the United States. But to your Dad the words were significant and embodied much of what he believed. So, he used it as his own special kind of prayer.
As you read this please understand that your father very much enjoyed studying the ancients. He was also captivated by the spirituality of those people we might refer to as primitive. He strongly believed that in many ways they were far more spiritually connected than modern man. I do believe that he felt a connection to them.
Keep in mind also that while this "letter/prayer" holds the sense of loss of a people on the fringe, I think it held special meaning for your father for that reason. I think he sometimes felt a kinship and a similar remorse at seeing a world going in a direction he could not favor.
CHIEF SEATTLE’S LETTER
The president in Washington sends word that he wishes to buy our land. But how can you buy or sell the sky? The land? The ideas is strange to us. If we do not own the freshness of the air and the sparkle of the water, how can you buy them?
Every part of the earth is sacred to my people. Every shining pine needle, every sandy shore, every mist in the dark woods, every meadow, every humming insect. All are holy in the memory and experience of my people.
We know the sap which courses through the trees as we know the blood that courses through our veins. We are part of the earth and it is part of us. The perfumed flowers are our sisters. The bear, the deer the great eagle, these are our brothers. The rocky crests, the dew in the meadow, the body heat of the pony, and man all belong to the same family.
The shining water that moves in the streams and rivers is not just water, but the blood of our ancestors. If we sell you our land, you must remember that it is sacred. Each glossy reflection in the clear waters of the lakes tells of events and memories in the life of my people. The water’s murmur is the voice of my father’s father.
The rivers are our brothers. They quench our thirst. They carry our canoes and feed our children. So you must give the rivers the kindness that you would give any brother.
If we sell our land, remember that the air is precious to us, that the air shares its spirit with all the life that it supports. The wind that gave our grandfather his first breath also received his last sigh. The wind also gives our children the spirit of life. So if we sell our land, you must keep it apart and sacred, as a place where man can go to taste the wind that is sweetened by the meadow flowers.
Will you teach your children what we have taught our children? That the earth is our mother? What befalls the earth befalls all the sons of the earth.
This we know: the earth does not belong to man, man belongs to the earth. All things are connected like the blood that unites us all. Man did not weave the web of life, he is merely a strand in it. Whatever he does to the web, he does to himself.
One thing we know: our God is your God. The earth is precious to him and to harm the earth is to heap contempt on its creator.
Your destiny is a mystery to us. What will happen when the buffalo are all slaughtered? The wild horses tamed? What will happen when the secret corners of the forest are heavy with the scent of many men and the view of the ripe hills is blotted with talking wires? Where will the thicket be? Gone! Where will the eagle be? Gone! And what is to say goodbye to the swift pony and then hunt? The end of living and the beginning of survival.
When the last red man has vanished with this wilderness, and his memory is only the shadow of a cloud moving across the prairie, will these shores and forests still be here? Will there be any of the spirit of my people left?
We love this earth as a newborn loves its mother’s heartbeat. So, if we sell you our land, love it as we loved it. Care for it, as we have cared for it. Hold in your mind the memory of the land as it is when you receive it. Preserve the land for all children, and love it, as God loves us.
As we are part of the land, you too are part of the land. This earth is precious to us. It is also precious to you.
One thing we know-there is only one God. No man, be he Red or White man, can be apart. We ARE all brothers after all.
Charley's New "Car"
This is a testament to the fact that boys will play with anything that has wheels. I pulled out the silverware sorter from the dishwasher the other day to unload everything back into the drawer. I turned around to see Charley pulling out the bottom rack saying "Car! Car!" Either he has a great imagination, or mom really needs to get him out a little more!
Monday, October 15, 2007
Morgan's First Day of School (about 6 weeks ago!!)
Here are a couple of pictures from Morgan's first day of school. Unfortunately, I did not inherit my grandfather's talent for taking great pictures, but at least it's finally documented!
Morgan's going to school 4 mornings a week from 9am - 12:30 and she is loving it! They get to bake every Monday--yesterday was French toast since they are studying the letter "F". Tuesdays is music and science, Wednesday is chapel day, and Fridays are for show and tell when she has to bring in an item that starts with the letter of the week. In addition to all of that, we also have a reading list: 10 books to read each week, and a word to look for in each book. Her teachers are great, but boy are they keeping us all busy!
Between Morgan's school, Charley's music class on Mondays, and their joint playgroup on Thursdays, we are lucky to make it to Target and the grocery store! Whew, it's been a busy fall, but lots of fun!
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